


#79: "Silence"

by theskywasblue



Series: 100 days, 100 prompts [34]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 12:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10189613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: Silence is like an old friend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Time for [a continuation of this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9595802) I guess

The house seemed unbearably quiet, even to Nate, who often embraced silence like an old friend. The words not spoken in a therapist’s office, a hospital room after lights out, even his claustrophobic little cubby hole in Susan’s half-finished basement were all different versions of the same, ringing nothingness he had come to know almost too well.

This was, somehow, different.

He wandered from room to room, his shadow trailing through the heavy slats of yellow light that leaked through the grimy windows, footsteps muffled by the soft layer of dust that sat over everything. Most of the furniture, the familiar trappings of his family life, were gone, except for what he assumed were the pieces that Aunt Kathy had decided could go safely along with the house rather than being sold independently: the heavy oak kitchen table, the china cabinet in the dining room, the bookshelves in the living room. 

Upstairs, air seemed hotter, somehow thicker, tinged with the distinct smell of something rotting. The room that had once been his parent’s bedroom still contained the frame for their king-sized bed. Nora’s room had dead leaves scattered across the floor. The window was cracked open at the bottom, about an inch, letting hot summer air and a swarm of bugs in; and water had ruined the wall below, staining it black and yellow, darkening the floor.

Nate’s own room was empty. It seemed smaller, somehow, without his bed, his desk. Standing in the center of the room, he could just see beyond the grimy window the roof the barn and a long, thick tree branch reaching over it.

Suddenly, he couldn’t hear himself breathing. Couldn’t hear the sound of his own heartbeat. Sweat dripped, stinging, into his eyes, and the floor seemed to sway, as if the house was rolling beneath him.

Nate turned, stumbled, just catching himself on the door frame, pushed out onto the landing and staggered down the stairs, his sweaty hands streaking along the peeling paint. Pushing through the front door was like breaking the surface of the water; all the sound seemed to rush back into the world at once - his gasping breaths, wind hissing through the overgrown grass, the call and response of thousands of crickets, the cry of some far off bird; and from somewhere, the sound of a wounded animal: a low broken keening.

Nate collapsed on the rotting steps, put his head between his knees, and remained there until the cries fell silent - never realizing they came from him.


End file.
